Harry Potter and the Four Loves
by Buttock-the-Troll
Summary: PostHBP: In search of the remaining horcruxes, Harry gradually realizes that they are only instrumental to the real task he will have to undertake if he wants to put an end to Voldemort, once and for all. HPGW, RWHG, RWLL, NLHG, VCGGslash.


1st of August, 1997.

Mundungus Fletcher was Lying on his stone bunk in a small stuffy cell in the deapths of Azkhaban prison. The only thing in the cell which wasn't made out of solid stone was the three foot thick oak door, with a small barred hatch for talking through and a two-way drawer at floor level for passing through food trays and toilet buckets. The door itself hadn't opened at all since he had been thrust into the draughty stone chamber, two months before. Boredom had been his main occupation besides singing, standing on his head, and daydreaming about enjoying a nice bottle of fire whisky, a pipe with a sack of tobacco and the girl of his dreams: Minerva McGonagall. Oh yes, dear old Minnie! She was old enough to be his mother, but then maybe that was part of the attraction. The only time she had taken any notice of him at all was to bark at him to behave himself and to stop pretending he wasn't really looking down women's blouses. But maybe, he mused, she was only jealous. Well, that would be mearly wishful thinking. Why on Earth would she ever be interested in an old crook like him? Well, since he would be in here for several years, there wouldn't be any harm in dreaming. Plenty of time for that, if he didn't lose his mind first. He closed his eyes in yet another attempt to sleep some more time away when suddenly, he heard a clinking noise coming from the massive door.

He suddenly felt something half way between queasiness and exitement at seeing the door open at last after so many weeks of trying to remember what it looked like when it was open. Two men stepped in. The first man was one of the guards who delivered his special prisoner disipinary rations everyday -food designed to nourrish you and knock you out at the same time to keep prisoners in check more easily- and he held a wand in his right hand. Before Dung could even notice who the second man was, the guard came straight up to his stone bunk and grabbed him by the front of his torn shirt, growling: "Come on, filth, up on your feet!" In a flash the second man was between them, facing the guard, and he boomed in a voice which Dung was glad to recognize: "That's enough! His bail has been payed, he's a free man again. Don't worry, I'll be reporting how you treat prisoners in 'ere.". Then turning to Dung, wooden leg clonking on floor, keeping his magic eye on the rather shaken guard, Mad-Eye Moody said, in a slighly kinder voice: "OK, Dung. You heard what I just told your friend here. Come on, we've got work to do."

Dung did not like the idea of work, but this was a chance to get out of this stone stuffy cell and he could always make his get-away later on if necessary. He was up on his feet and on Moody's tail in an instant. As they both got into a boat with several Azkhaban guards to make the journey back to the main land, Moody casually murmured: "We'll talk when we're out of this boat and back somewhere safe. It's profitable to you so you don't have to go running off as soon as you're on dry land." Dung was too busy getting used to the idea of seeing the sea and the sky again to worry about anything else at that moment.

As soon as they had disembarqued from the long boat after an uneventful journey, and after they were well out of earshot of any Azkhaban mob, Moody removed a piece of rubber tyre from the pocket of his travelling robes and asked Dung to grab the end of it. The portkey, for that's what it was, took them straight into the hall of number 12, Grimmauld Place, somewhere unplottable in London. "The new leader of the Order of the Phoenix would like to hire your particular services. This way please.", said Moody as he lead Dung through a door beside which a whole lot of house-elf heads had been removed, into the kitchen. Right enough, the new leader of the order was waiting with several of the most trusted members. Dung began to realize how glad he was he hadn't yet sold any of his loot from Grimmauld Place.

26th of June, 1997

Harry Potter and his friends had decided to wait until the official end of term before leaving Hogwarts. They were to go home on the Hogwarts Express with the few other students who were staying. More than half the student body had been taken home straight after Professor Albus Dumbledore's funeral by anxious parents. Other parents and guardians believed that Hogwarts was still the safest place for their children and made them stay there for as long as possible. Some parents even stayed at Hogwarts with their children, with the headmistress's permission of course. Harry had decided he would stay until the end of term because he knew very well that with Dumbledore gone, his every move would be watched even more closely by the press, the Ministry and Voldemort. If he was seen to be doing anything at all out of the ordinary, the story that Harry Potter was up to something would spread like a forest fire.

Since the funeral, Harry, Ron and Hermione had spent a lot of time thinking over the adventures they had had since they had begun at Hogwarts. On Hermione's suggestion, they had begun writing down as much detail as they could remember about every event they had experienced which had been connected to Voldemort in some way. Writing everything down, Hermione had explained, would help them to go over things later on and would make it easier to spot patterns.

At first, Ron had resented the idea of having to do so much writing, but he had had the sense to keep quiet until he had realized how much it helped him remember details which he might have overlooked otherwise.

Hermione, who was of course an expert at taking notes, made sure they numbered their pages and gave their different parts titles. Most important was to only write on one side of each roll of parchement so as to leave enough space to add items, should they only occur later on.

It was a long and tedious job, which took them a fair few days, sometimes consulting each other on small details. They all knew too well that anything could be important so they did their best to leave nothing out.

A complete file was devoted to their least favorite potions master, another to their most detested fellow student. They were determined to make sure that neither Snape nor Malfoy got away for their totally atrocious actions. Another file was made on Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail and one time as Scabbers the rat. They each ran six separate files on their years at Hogwarts. Harry also wrote down everything he could remember of his lessons with Dumbledore about Voldemort's past and the horcruxes and what they might be.

After three whole days spent consulting, discussing, debating, writing and filing from seven in the morning until eleven o'clock at night, Hermione commented that she had never seen either Ron or Harry so studious and determined. Ron had been true to his word, that he would follow Harry anywhere and do anything to help him in his quest to find and destroy the remaining pieces of Voldemort's soul. This sudden, almost unnatural concentration and effort on Ron's part reminded Harry of the chess game at the end of their first year. Yes, Harry thought, Ron can be an absolute prat, but only when he thinks he can afford to be. If he is suddenly confronted with a whole load of responsibility, he will face up to it and transcend to do what is necessary, even if it is beyond his capabilities. That is Gryffindor bravery for you, thought Harry as they were about to turn in after their third day of brain racking. He himself was making preparations for the task which was set for him. He had no choice in the matter if Voldemort was to be destroyed. Ron and Hermione did have a choice. They were doing all this work, this chore voluntarily. As Hermione had pointed out right at the beginning, three points of view are better than one. 'Between us, we have fewer chances of overlooking things.', she had said.

Another thing that stuck Harry as the clock stuck eleven pm was that he had never seen Ron remain so serious for such a long time. Come to think of it, he had never seen Hermione go for so long without being a bossy know-it-all. And they hadn't bickered once since the funeral. Had they come to some sort of agreement, whether spoken or not? Or was it something else? Harry returned to his recount of what he had seen when he had succeeded in breaking into Snape's mind during an occlumency lesson back in his fifth year. As he finally finished writing down every detail he could recall of those few very packed seconds, he began to reflect for the hundredth time in that last three days on how much more detail he could remember if he looked at things in a perfectly objective manner. This was something he had read about in a book about auror training he had ordered from Flourish and Blotts the day after Dumbledore's death. At last, after 16 hours of constant meditation and making notes (Dobby had brought them their meals and snacks at regular intervals.), he was able to relax his mind a little.

Suddenly, as he was observing how Ron's eyes were desperately trying to close, an idea struck him; the kind of idea that only comes when you're half asleep because during a full waking period it would seem too naïve or silly. He startled Ron and Hermione as he sat up straight as if he had just burned himself. "The Mirror!", he exclamed.

"Relax, mate!", said Ron, "It was only a dream. You must have dosed off like I was doing."

"No!", said Harry, his insides starting to feel like a battle field, "it wasn't a dream. I just had an idea for finding out what the sixth horcrux might be. But I don't think it would work, it would be too easy."

Hermione put her hand on his forearm, causing Ron to breath loudly, "It might not be as easy as it seems to you now. And even if it is, that doesn't automatically rule it out. What did you think of, Harry?"

"The Mirror. You know, the Mirror of Erised. The one I saw my family in back in first year."

"Oh yes, I remember", said Ron, "And I saw myself as Headboy. But how could that help us?"

"Well, it might show us what the missing horcrux is and it might show us what the other ones look like.", answered Harry, trying not to be too optimistic all the same.

"Why do you think it would show you that?", asked Hermione, "Wouldn't it just show you your family again?"

Harry was wishing he had mastered occlumency with the state of his nerves, half-way between exitement at the possibiliy of their making progress and fear of both failing and succeeding. He knew that what he was about to say in response to Hermione's question was going to break a barrier beyond which he was going to either make a giant leap towards destroying Voldemort or finding himself back at square one looking rather stupid.

"The last time I saw that mirror was when Quirrel was forcing me to look in it to find out where the Philosopher's Stone was hidden. My greatest desire at that moment was to find the stone to keep it safe until I could hand it over to Dumbledore." He had to really concentrate to spell out his words without trembling or stuttering. He noticed how Ron had been about to say something and thought better of it; something like "How is this going to help you now?". Before going on with his expanation, he had the time to think that Ron had definetly matured. He went on: "For the last weeks, and even more since Dumbledore's death, my greatest desire has been to find those horcruxes and destroy them."

Hermione began to nod her head slowly as she understood what Harry was thinking of. Ron finally decided to speak: "So you think the Mirror of Erised might show you what they are or where they are or maybe how to destroy them? That would be great!"

Hermione was not so optimistic: "I think it might give us a clue, but we shouldn't expect too much. We don't know how much the mirror can tell us that we don't already know, if it can at all. But do you know where it is, Harry?"

Harry shook his head: "It was at Hogwarts in our first year. We could logically assume it is still here, but on the other hand, it might have been moved elsewhere for all we know. We'll have to find it, I suppose."

"We could ask Dobby if he knows, or maybe one of the ghosts might know. I'm sure old Nick would help if he could.", suggested Ron.

Harry braced himself, expecting Hermione to remind Ron that it was Sir Nicolas, not old Nick, but it didn't happen. Was Hermione also being more careful about push Ron around? That would be great, Harry thought. After all, even though they were the closest of friends, you had to admit that Hermione wasn't particularly nice to Ron most of the time. Snapping out of his degressive reverie back on topic he immediately called: "Dobby? Are you available, please?"

Dobby the house-elf apparated beside him immediately, carrying a tray full of cakes and doughnuts and bottles of butterbeer which floated into the middle of the table. "Dobby was about to come anyway. Dobby thought Harry Potter and his friends would need something to eat and drink after hard work. But Dobby must tell Harry Potter!" Would he ever learn to talk in the first person, Harry thought.

"Yes, Dobby?", said Harry, "What must you tell me?"

Dobby began to speak slowly, sounding as if his news was so wonderful, that if he said it out loud, it would cease to be true. "Professor McGonagall has just given Dobby a letter which Professor Dumbledore left in his desk. It is his final order to Dobby. He says that if he were to die, then Dobby was to serve Harry Potter!" As he managed to force out the last words, he looked as though he were about to wheep for joy of die of fright. Harry realized immediately that he had better do something quickly before Dobby started punishing himself or something. He asked Dobby: "Well, would you like to work for me? You do realize you will be in permanent danger if you are connected to me in any way at all?"

Dobby stared at Harry in disbelief, in the same way he had during their first meeting at Privet Drive, several years ago, when Harry had asked Dobby if he would like to sit down. Dobby began to wheep as he stuttered: "Dobby wants nothing else than to help Harry Potter in any way he can. And Harry Potter doesn't even need to pay Dobby! Dobby can cook, clean, fight, spy and many other things Harry Potter might want doing."

Harry was rather taken aback: "But you do realize that by entering my service, you would be putting yourself into great danger? I couldn't bare it if anything happened to you! You are one of my best friends after all." The last sentence came out of his mouth before he could acknowledge what he had just said, but as soon as he did, he knew he meant every word of it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione beaming at him and squeezing Ron's hand, and Ron staring at both him and Hermione at the same time, thus looking like he were watching a sped up tennis match.

Harry decided it was time to pile on more layers of what Dobby would see as kindness beyond the limits of his imagination: "Your pay will amount to 10 galleons per week, you are entitled to week-ends off, five weeks paid holiday per year and an extra month's pay at Christmas time. We shall draw this up in writing as soon as may be. Every six months you may receive pay rise, you are authorized to wear any clothes you wish as long as your attire is reasonably decent and my first order is, whatever you do, whatever mistakes you might make, you are not to punish yourself. Do you agree to these terms?"

Dobby looked like he had just won the first prize of a lottery and his wonder was knocked up yet another notch as he realized that Harry was actually offering him a handshake!


End file.
